


These Magic Words

by tebtosca



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: 1920s, Alternate Universe - 1920s, Illusions, M/M, Magic, Minor Character Death, Psychic Abilities, Reporter!Jensen, Sideshow - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-21
Updated: 2014-01-21
Packaged: 2018-01-09 11:13:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,854
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1145300
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tebtosca/pseuds/tebtosca
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>City News reporter Jensen Ackles' exposé on a popular local sideshow and their mysterious headlining act leads to more than he bargained for.</p>
            </blockquote>





	These Magic Words

**Author's Note:**

> Written for spn-reversebang with art by the amazing littlepistols!
> 
> check out the art masterpost and leave her some love: http://littlepistols.livejournal.com/9175.html

“That was _my_ story, Cindy, and you knew that!” 

Cindy sits down on her desk in the open newsroom, crossing her legs daintily in her tweed skirt and throwing Jensen her best faux-sympathetic expression. Her neat, thoroughly modern bob barely moves.

“The story is the story. Not my fault if I got there first.”

Jensen curls his fists up where they are sitting in his lap, willing his voice to not shake. “That’s not fair.”

She shrugs, tapping one nail on the front page of The City News where her byline is mocking him. “It’s a dog-eat-dog world, Jensen. I have to work hard enough to compete with these jerks around here—no offense—so a girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do.”

Cindy hops up off the desk and smiles again, patting Jensen on the shoulder before grabbing her coat and heading out for what he assumes is either lunch or another bout of story thievery.

Jensen scowls to himself and pulls that morning’s edition closer to him. He runs his hand over the headline – “Mayor Rosenbaum Caught in Smelly Scandal!” – and sighs. Corruption at City Hall has been running rampant since the end of the War, bootleggers and mobsters infiltrating Rosenbaum’s administration to the point of indecency. Jensen got a tip that the Mayor and Commissioner Welling were getting kickbacks from criminal sorts to control the city trash pickup—but before he could interview his source, Cindy got there first.

Jensen pulls his wire-rimmed glasses off and rubs his eyes wearily. Maybe he isn’t cut out for the big leagues, fighting corruption and bringing down government officials. Maybe he really will always be just a pencil pusher like his stepfather told him he was.

“No!” he exclaims, pounding his fist down angrily on the desk and almost taking out his glasses. He curses under his breath and fumbles them back on, annoyed that he can’t even manage a bit of righteous indignation without messing up.

He blinks a few times to let his eyes adjust to having his glasses back on, and then suddenly spots a colorful-looking paper sticking out of the top drawer of Cindy’s desk. His senses start tingling, and he peers around to make sure no one is looking at what he’s doing before creeping over and pulling the piece of paper out and rushing back to his own desk.

It turns out to be a flyer for a freak show out on the boardwalk near the shore that has become inexplicably popular lately. This particular advertisement has a picture of a man with rather luxurious chestnut brown hair, and he’s all knowing eyes and curving mouth. 

A terribly good-looking man if Jensen is being honest with himself. Which he’s _not._

“The Great Padalecki,” Jensen reads in a hushed voice, before scoffing. Jensen’s a realist, a journalist—he believes in facts and logic, not magic and mysticism. It’s bad enough that there are people out there that get sucked into scams like these, letting the ruse trick them…

Jensen jumps up. That’s it! It’s all a scam, no better than Rosenbaum and Welling selling contracts to crime syndicates.

Well, okay, maybe not on _quite_ the same level, but the intent is similar, and that is screaming exposé at Jensen. For the first time since he saw Cindy’s name on the front page instead of his own, Jensen is excited again about a story.

Hand clutching the flyer, he rushes over and stops to take a moment to prepare himself before knocking on the office door of Jeffrey Dean Morgan, Editor-in-Chief of the esteemed City News and world-class sonofabitch.

Jensen enters when he hears a loud “come in” bellowed, and smiles with what he hopes is a look of determination at the man sitting behind his desk with his feet propped up, smoking a cigar. His mouth curls up into a grin when he sees Jensen, and Jensen just stops himself from saying “oh, dear” out loud.

“Ah, Ackles, there you are. How does it feel knowing you got scooped by a dame?”

“That’s not why I’m here, Sir.”

“I’ve never had my testicles actually recede into my body. What’s that like?”

“Mr. Morgan, that’s highly inappropriate…”

“What’s inappropriate is the fact that you appear to be growing bubs before my eyes.”

Jensen takes a deep, calming breath and holds the flyer up in front of him like a shield.

“I want to write an exposé of Sheppard’s Seashore Spectacular and their headliner, the Great Padalecki,” Jensen rambles it out so fast that he hopes Morgan can understand all the words that are coming out of his mouth.

Morgan drops his feet down and peers at him from behind his cigar.

“That place is a bucketful of hogwash, if you ask me,” Morgan says, almost thoughtfully, and Jensen feels a tiny flutter of hope. “The in-laws keep trying to drag me and the wife out there but I keep telling them they’d have to chain me to their Model-T and drag me there first.”

“That is a very colorful story, sir,” Jensen says obediently, shaking his fist in solidarity.

Morgan grins again, puffing a few times on his cigar for good measure. “I like you, Ackles. Too bad about the testicles.”

“My testicles really want permission to follow this story, sir.”

“Granted,” Morgan replies, and Jensen almost sighs in relief. 

“Thank you, sir! I will hit on all sixes,” Jensen says, turning around and rushing back out.

“Attaboy! Just don’t let the skirt get there first!” Morgan calls out with a guffaw and then a slight coughing fit as Jensen closes the door behind him.

“Such an _asshole,_ ” Jensen mumbles to himself, but clutches the flyer to his chest and grins.

Redemption is so close.

==

Later that night, Jensen flops down on the rickety loveseat in the middle of his rented room. The boarding house is old and his landlord Pellegrino is a total creep, but the price is right for the admittedly shoddy salary The News pays him, and it’s close enough to the city center to save money on transportation.

And if it’s discreet enough that he had scratched _that urge_ every once and a while without folks knowing about it…well, there are upsides to everything.

His cat, Cat, a skinny gray and white creature that always looks utterly disappointed in Jensen’s life choices, hops up and slinks alongside him. Jensen’s not sure if he’s begging for a bite of the cold noodles Jensen is eating for supper, or if he just wants to make sure that Jensen recognizes how surly he is feeling.

“You know, Cat, if you were nicer to me than I might be nicer to you,” Jensen says, pointing his fork at the animal, who just hisses back at him and hops up on the back of the loveseat. 

Jensen laughs as Cat looks at him with disdain. “See, this is what I’m talking about.”

He pops another noodle into his mouth and chews slowly, taking in the modest décor of the room. The wallpaper is flowered and peeling and the light blue paint on the tiny dresser next to his twin bed is cracking. On it sits a picture of Jensen, his mother, and his baby sister back in happier days. 

Jensen frowns, shaking his head and leans back against the loveseat, throwing his head back and closing his eyes. Of course, that’s when Cat decides he doesn’t like sharing the space and lashes out claws first.

Jensen yelps, noodles flying all over the faded paisley of the loveseat cover. He grabs his neck, now throbbing with the scratch left behind, as Cat jumps down and victoriously starts cleaning up the noodles with his mouth.

“Friends aren’t supposed to wound each other. You know that, right?” Jensen says, as Cat gives him an innocent look, face covered in sauce.

“Friends are also supposed to be able to talk back.” Jensen sighs heavily, leaning forward to start cleaning up the uneaten portions of the mess, and sees the flyer with the picture of the intriguing young Padalecki character on the floor. 

Jensen picks it up on instinct and studies it. 

Cat interrupts with a sound that could almost be an apology, if Jensen didn’t already know his cunning ways. Jensen chuckles, imagining what Cat would sound like if he could talk, and then looks down at the flyer again.

“That would take some magic, huh?”

==

Jensen chooses Sunday afternoon to check out Sheppard’s sideshow, knowing it’s a popular time and hoping that he can slip in unnoticed and do an initial observation of the place.

He finds the popularity of the day amusing, the dichotomy of most of these families coming right out of church and heading to a sordid place full of anomalies and supposed sorcery an intriguing one. Perhaps they think they need the sermons to bless them in anticipation of what they are going to see later.

Or maybe it’s just all hogwash, as Morgan said, and everyone knows it.

He joins the crowd getting off at the rail station and follows them like a wave down the pathway leading towards the shore. It’s a good twenty minute walk from the train, but the weather is bright with only a mild breeze in the air, and the spirits of the people walking are high.

Jensen studies them as he walks, patting the paper and pencil in his coat pocket like a talisman. Lots of families, men in waist coats and their wives in pastel chemise dresses, children in knee socks and ribbons following along, kicking up bits of sand the closer they get to the shore.

There are others, too. Single men like him, some with thin Gable moustaches and three-piece tweed suits, and others more obviously working class, the type that would have callouses on their hands if they brushed your skin. 

Jensen slides behind a young couple, perhaps a few years younger than his twenty-five years, and observes the excitement in their conversation. More than anything else, understanding why a spectacle like this is enticing to so many people will better help him dissect then expose it. 

He’s so wrapped up in eavesdropping that he barely realizes that they’ve reached their destination until he hears a little girl call out “Look, Mother!” with glee. Indeed, Jensen looks up and is struck when he ends up staring into the face that he was considering so intensely last night.

It’s on a sign, of course, a huge banner rimmed with fringe that must have cost a pretty penny. It’s a different picture from the flyer, this one jauntier, more welcoming, drawing the visitor into the venue. Padalecki is smiling wide, dimples indenting his cheeks like clever little hiding places, as his curving eyes twinkle.

Jensen shakes his head to clear it. It’s ridiculous, just a picture. Padalecki is a handsome man, surely, and Jensen isn’t too shame-faced to admit it to himself, but this reaction would feel almost like a bewitchment if he didn’t know better.

There’s an awning over the building with Sheppard’s Seashore Spectacular spelled out in bright devil-red capital letters, with a picture of another man that Jensen assumes is Sheppard himself. This man is older, well into his forties, with a sly smirk and a knowing expression.

Jensen immediately decides that Sheppard is one to avoid, if at all possible. Exposés involve infiltration which involves trust, and Sheppard doesn’t look like the type of man to trust his own mother, much less a reporter for the city paper known for weeding out corruption.

Taking a deep breath, Jensen returns to the crowd and follows them into the hall. Once inside, he realizes that it’s set up like a railroad, a long hallway where one passes various acts on the way to the main building, which Jensen assumes holds the headliner, The Great Padalecki.

He walks slowly, blinking his eyes as they adjust to the lowered lighting, likely done so that people won’t be able to study the acts as well as they usually would. The acts themselves are on platforms behind ropes, just far enough away from the crowd that they are both protected and mysterious.

“Smart,” Jensen muses, trying to take in as much as he can using all of his senses. The air is muggy, body heat from the patrons filling up the space and making him just a touch on the drowsy side. Another way to dim the senses and discourage people from questioning.

There is a great whooshing sound and then the squeals of children and a few adults, and Jensen wanders over to see which act is inspiring it. He sees a woman, thick dark hair braided down her back and her tiny body incased in a red bodysuit lined with sequins, as she blows a huge stream of fire from her mouth. Next to her, a man wearing a similar outfit but blue, inserts a gleaming silver sword down his throat until it’s buried up to the hilt.

Jensen reads the helpful little placard in front of them, deeming them siblings named Misha and Genevieve, discovered in the wilds of Siberia, and saved from freezing to death by her ability to breathe fire.

“Sure,” Jensen says under his breath, chuckling as a little boy next to him claps his hands in excitement when Genevieve lets out another wave of bright red sparks.

He continues on, passing by a small, seemingly teenaged Asian boy nicknamed The Mighty Chau lifting a grown man over his head like it’s nothing. On another platform, an older man with a long, wizened face and completely blank expression sits motionless as the sign beckons the crowd to press pins into the skin of The Statue Man.

Jensen hurries away from that one, the gleeful look in the eyes of people pressing sharp objects into a stranger making him uncomfortable. He rushes right into the sight-line of a woman in lavender silk lying across a chaise languidly, a long curly chestnut colored beard hanging from her chin down to the ample curves of her breasts.

“Samantha, the Bearded Lady,” he mouths the sign, as the woman herself catches his eye and winks.

Jensen turns bright red and nearly runs right past a mismatched pair of Siamese twins named Matt and Dick, and something that he doesn’t even want to think about called “The Chad.”

Before he knows it, the crowd pushes him through a doorway, and he’s there in the main room, which upon further inspection seems to be a large tent with a stage area and room for at least a hundred chairs. The space is almost entirely full of people, the crowd in a tizzy of excitement as the buzz in the room grows louder. 

Jensen grabs a seat in the last row, right on the aisle, his gut telling him not to get boxed in too far if he can help it. The last seats fill in and there is still a line two-deep of people watching while standing behind him. 

The lights dim even further and a spotlight appears suddenly in the middle of the stage. The crowd cheers loudly and then quiets down to a hush, and Jensen marvels at how conditioned the response seems.

Finally, after a minute to build anticipation, the man from the awning—likely Sheppard—springs onto the stage and makes an elaborate bow, taking off his ringmaster hat and waving it at the audience before putting it back on with a little tap of one hand. He grins widely, his round little face scrunching up with the action.

“Ladies and gentlemen…and the rest of you lot,” he begins, and the audience reacts gleefully to the insult. “Welcome to Sheppard’s Seashore Spectacular. I humbly present myself as the leader of this ragtag group of magical misfits. I hope you have been enjoying the wonder of what you have seen so far.”

The crowd lets out a roar, and Jensen claps a few times just to not look _too_ out of place among the horde. 

Sheppard pauses for a few more seconds, looking at the crowd expectantly, until the roar gets deafening and he smirks and waves at them to stop.

“You haven’t seen anything yet, my dear friends! I present to you now the marvel that is The Great Padalecki, accompanied by his beautiful assistant Danneel!”

Jensen feels his heart start beating rapidly as the crowd starts chanting. Sheppard disappears off the stage just as everything goes completely dark. The anticipation rises to a frenzy as the bellowing crowd sits blindly, and Jensen wonders just how long they are going to stretch this out before suddenly twin follow spots appear on stage and there stands the man himself and a gorgeous redhead done up in a corset, feathers and ribbons making her even more dazzling.

Jensen wonders momentarily if the bedecked beauty is supposed to be another distraction, but his eyes lock on the man standing dead center in the middle of the stage and his breath catches.

Padalecki is even more handsome in person, tall as an oak tree with strong shoulders and a tapered waist under the charcoal gray of his suit jacket. His soft brown hair curls around his ears in a way that is a touch too inappropriate for the times, but it suits him and softens the sharpness of his cheekbones.

His presence though, that is the most striking thing about him. He’s tall, yes, and commanding, but it’s more than that. There is something about him that is the cause of a hundred people sitting in hushed silence because he has raised one hand to command it.

Jensen grudgingly admits to himself that this bit of star power is likely why the act is so popular, but it doesn’t mean that there is any _magic_ inherent in it. Jensen is a man of logic, of fact. A pretty face and few locks of soft brown hair aren’t going to change that fact.

“Welcome,” Padalecki says with the hint of a smile. The word is brief, but his voice is deep and tinged with the shadow of an accent that Jensen can’t quite place.

Jensen hears a sigh go through the audience, and he can’t be certain that there weren’t a few male voices added in with the ladies.

The redheaded beauty gets the show started, pulling out various contraptions as she shimmies the bottom of her gold and green skirt and kicks out one be-ribboned leg with a wink and a hair toss. Cat calls erupt from the audience and Padalecki sticks his arm toward the crowd with a mock-stern face that causes another round of laughter.

Jensen has to give the guy credit—Padalecki knows how to work an audience.

Jensen’s too far back to see anything too well, but he tries to pay attention to some of the more elaborate tricks Padalecki is playing on stage, including one that looks like he’s sawing his assistant in half before putting her back together again.

There is one moment when Jensen tenses up. Danneel is strapped to a circular board, limbs outstretched, her face placid and lovely in repose. Padalecki, a simple black blindfold covering his eyes, wields a small dagger in his hand and aims it directly at her.

Jensen doesn’t understand how the woman can be so calm, knowing that a knife is going to be hurdling at her any moment from a blind man. Yet she is, not a hint of worry covering her pretty pink cheeks. Her little mouth twists up as Padalecki raises his hand, tiny dimple at the corner of her mouth popping out as the weapon is released and flies through the air.

It lands directly next to her head, spearing a lock of her shiny crimson hair to the board.

The entire crowd gasps in shock and then explodes into applause.

Padalecki slips the blindfold off his face and smiles serenely back at them.

“And now, ladies and gentlemen, I challenge you to allow me to tell you a little bit about _yourselves._ Do I have any volunteers?” Padalecki asks, as the buzz in the room gets slightly anxious.

Jensen sits up straighter as he realizes this is the “mind reading” portion of the act that he had heard whispers about. Manipulation of the various contraptions used during the act is one thing, but pretending to know things about random members of the audience is a whole different kettle of fish.

The female half of the young couple that Jensen was following earlier stands up suddenly and waves her arm tentatively in the air. Padalecki smiles at her and suddenly a spotlight is on her as well. She blinks a few times, but is smiling shyly.

“Hello, my lady. I hope you are enjoying the show,” Padalecki says.

“Yes, Mr. Padalecki,” she replies, projecting her voice to be heard. The crowd quiets down to a hush again.

“Have you told him yet?” Padalecki says, his voice suddenly achingly kind, and Jensen looks up sharply, trying to figure out what he means. Told who what?

The young woman’s face is a mask of astonishment and her hands fly to her waist.

“Julie?” the young man, her partner, says suddenly, rising to his feet himself and looking at her with a face full of hope.

Jensen can just barely see tears glisten at the corner of the young woman’s eyes as she nods in affirmation of _something_ and throws her arms around her man. 

“Yes, Jake, yes! We’re going to have a baby,” she cries out, her voice muffled by her face being buried in his neck.

The crowd erupts again and Jensen’s gaze goes back to Padalecki, who is looking at the young couple with a smile, not an ounce of shock on his face.

“Anyone else?” Padalecki says and Jensen is standing before he can process what he’s doing.

“Me. I volunteer,” Jensen says, attempting to keep his voice steady and loud. Padalecki _must_ have planted that couple in the audience—it’s the only explanation. Let’s see how he does with a _real_ stranger.

The spotlight shines on Jensen and he tries to school his face into neutrality. Padalecki finally catches sight of him and there is a weird shift in his expression that Jensen guesses is him realizing with distress that the new volunteer isn’t one of his patsies.

Jensen tilts his chin up and looks at Padalecki with just enough defiance to get across the fact that he thinks this entire thing is a farce.

Slowly, Padalecki’s soft jagged mouth curves up into a smile that can only be described as feral, and Jensen feels something that he can’t quite name unfurl itself in his belly. 

“Have you considered getting a dog? I think you’ll find them more amenable than your current situation,” Padalecki says, that same infuriating smile growing even wider right along with Jensen’s eyes.

“How did you -” Jensen starts, before snapping his mouth shut. This is preposterous. It must be a wild, lucky guess. 

Suddenly uncomfortable in his own skin, and not wanting to bet on what other, more _secret_ things Padalecki can guess about him to announce to a hundred strangers, Jensen pulls his coat tight around himself and runs from the hall.

==

“Sideshow freaks—really, Jensen?” Cindy says, propping her elbow on his desk and cradling her face in her hands. Her expression verges on pity, and Jensen scowls back at her.

“Sheppard is swindling people out of their money by letting them believe things that aren’t real. Exposing that is an important story,” Jensen replies stubbornly.

Cindy barely manages to conceal her eyeroll. “No, keeping Mayor Rosenbaum and his cronies out of the city coffers is an important story. Not getting your knickers in a twist because some people are having a good time on their weekends.”

“What does it matter to you anyway? You seem to have the town hall beat all sewn up,” Jensen replies and Cindy beams at that.

“Look, Jensen—I wouldn’t mind us working together. Two heads are better than one, and all that.”

Jensen looks at her suspiciously. “What’s the catch?”  
“I get the byline.” Cindy grins at him and leans over to pat his hand when he scoffs. “But you get to do good work, _important_ work. Think about that.”

“I’m thinking about it.” Jensen tilts his head and pretends to consider it, before glaring at her. “And ‘heck no’ is my answer. You go chase your story and I’ll chase mine. Deal?”

Cindy jumps up and smooths invisible lint off her tweed skirt. She peers over and shrugs with her best nonchalance. “Anything you want, Jen.”

“Jensen,” he grits out.

She winks at him before heading over towards Morgan’s office. “Whatever you say.”

Jensen heaves out the sigh he was holding in and considers his next steps. He’s been feeling odd since running out of Padalecki’s show -- _like a coward,_ his inner voice mocks him—and part of him doesn’t want to continue the story at all. But now that Cindy’s thrown down the gauntlet, he can’t give up on the story just yet. 

No, it’s back to the seashore for him.

==

Jensen goes earlier the next day, hoping that combined with the fact that it’s a weekday, it might be slow enough that he can catch some of the performers off guard and get them to talk to him. Maybe even Padalecki himself, if he gets so lucky.

The atmosphere is completely different then the last time he came. Now there are no jubilant crowds pushing towards the entrance with excitement in the air. Instead, just the sound of seagulls in the distance and the soothing crashing of waves against the shore. Jensen takes a moment to stand on the boardwalk and breathe in the salty air before he steadies himself and heads around the side of the building.

He doesn’t make it more than halfway around before he almost runs into Padalecki’s assistant Danneel. She’s wearing silk sailor pants and delicately puffing on a Lucky Strike, her mass of red curls piled under a jaunty cloche hat. 

She makes an elaborate showing of looking him up and down, making Jensen feel disturbingly like a butterfly pinned to a board. Her pretty pink mouth twists up in that way of hers, and she nods her head. 

“Why, hello there, Mister.”

“Hello,” Jensen replies, getting his bearings and remembering that he’s a professional. “Danneel, right? Padalecki’s assistant?”

She eyes him carefully before nodding affirmatively. “Who wants to know?”

He sticks out his hand immediately and she stubs her cigarette under one toe before reaching over to shake it. “Jensen Ackles, reporter for The City News. I’m doing a story on your establishment and wondered if I could talk to you.”

That seems to immediately perk her up and her chocolate brown eyes sparkle. “Ooh, a story, huh? Will there be pictures? You better let me know when so I make sure you get my best side.”

She’s practically batting her eyelashes at him and Jensen has to restrain a laugh. “I think there might eventually be pictures, yes. But you’ll have plenty of time to get ready for that.”

“What’s this I hear about pictures?” Another voice breaks through their reverie and a young man with corn-colored hair and a squint comes over to join them.

“Jensen here’s a reporter from the News. Gonna make us all stars,” Danneel informs the newcomer, and she looks cheerful enough that Jensen doesn’t try and refute her.

“I’m already a star!” the man proclaims, before suddenly grabbing at Danneel’s bottom with what should be hands but are really just bones and skin twisted into claws. It’s then that Jensen realizes with a bit of shock that this must be the mysterious Lobster Boy Chad. 

Jensen can’t help a startled exclamation at the sight of Chad’s attempt at harassment, but Danneel just rolls her eyes and socks Chad across the head with one tiny fist.

“There ain’t nobody home in that head of yours, is there?” she sighs, before turning back to Jensen with an apologetic look. “Sorry about Chad. We found him in a dumpster on the side of the road. It does things to a person.”

Chad scoffs and tries for one more pinch, leaving Jensen unsure if Danneel’s explanation is true or not. At this point, anything short of actual magic is possible in his book.

“Jared, there you are! Come over here and talk to us,” Danneel calls out, and Jensen knows without even turning around that it’s Padalecki himself walking towards them.

His hunch is borne out when that smooth drawl answers from behind.

“And who do we have here, doll?”

Jensen shuts his eyes only more a moment before setting his shoulders and turning back to face the man. 

The first thing he notices is how tall this Jared Padalecki is in person. Jensen expected him to look bigger on the stage, lording over the crowd, but his presence is just as big standing just a foot away from him. 

“Oh, it’s _you,_ ” Jared says, his voice quiet, but his grin devilish.

Danneel claps her hands, like she just remembered as well. “I knew you looked familiar! The fella who ran out of the big top the other day. “

“I didn’t _run,_ ” Jensen protests, knowing it’s futile when all three of them share an obvious look and laugh. He realizes suddenly and bitterly that he was probably the subject of conversation over supper that evening, and he’s just embarrassed enough to consider fleeing again and giving up this shoddy journalism thing. It’s not like Morgan needs him when he has Cindy on call.

All of that must read on his face, because Jared is suddenly reaching over and cradling his elbow. The touch is light, nothing constricting, but there’s definitely a thread of ‘don’t leave’ running through it. Jensen looks up and their eyes meet for the briefest moments, and the only thing that Jensen can concentrate on is how Jared’s eyes keep changing color.

“What’s all this? You lazy clucks forget you have a job to do?” 

The addition of yet another voice, this time the obvious accented lilt of Sheppard, breaks Jensen out of his reverie. He looks over at the man, dressed in an impeccably tailored three piece suit. He’s short of stature, the funhouse mirror image of Jared almost, but his expression brokers no argument.

“It’s the big cheese. Gotta go,” Danneel stage whispers, blowing Jensen a kiss as she saunters off, Chad following a little too closely on her heels.

A shiver runs down Jensen’s spine as Jared moves close enough so that his mouth is brushing the shell of Jensen’s ear. 

“Come back tomorrow around lunch time,” Jared whispers, and Jensen can almost feel the curve of his smile against his cheek before he walks away.

Jensen feels the phantom sensation of it all the way home.

==

He spends the next morning in the newsroom, making some calls around town, seeing if he can dig up any dirt on this Mark Sheppard character. He finds nothing except that he appeared with his entire cast and crew intact four years prior and set up shop in an abandoned set of buildings on the shore that was scheduled to be torn down before he purchased it with cash. He built a row house on the lot nearby to house the misfits and the people who attend to the technical aspects of the show, and seems to have formed a tiny community.

Jensen is surprised to discover that the popularity of the sideshow has revitalized the corresponding area, and a few of the other nearby buildings are being converted by the city into tenements. Jensen begrudgingly admits to himself that it seems Sheppard’s little freak show is doing a bit of good, but it doesn’t take away from the fact that there is _something_ shady going on inside those walls.

It’s fitting, then, that Sheppard is the first person he sees when he arrives just past noon. Jensen’s a little wary, but Sheppard is the meat and potatoes of the operation, even if Padalecki is the face. If working for The News has taught him anything, it’s that the façade is never the thing to focus on.

“Mr. Sheppard, hello. I’m Jensen Ackles with The City News. Do you have a moment of time to talk?” Jensen says, plastering on his most congenial smile and holding out his hand.

Sheppard looks at him suspiciously, but takes his hand. “The News, is it? What exactly do you want to talk about?”

“I’m doing a piece for the Sunday edition, a profile,” Jensen replies, only partially lying. It will be a profile of something, just not what Sheppard is expecting.

A shrewd look crosses Sheppard’s face. “I thought Heyerdahl was the culture and entertainment editor at The News? You working for him?”

Jensen swallows hard. The last thing he wants is Sheppard to call Heyerdahl, since that gossiping ninny will have it spread across the newsroom faster than Morgan can light his cigar.

“No, sir. We’re branching out a bit into lifestyle pieces on the main page,” Jensen covers quickly, but he can already tell Sheppard doesn’t believe him.

“It’s nice of you to think of us…Mr. Ackles, is it? But I think we’re doing fine by ourselves.” Sheppard starts heading towards the front entrance, an obvious dismissal.

“Horsefeathers!” Jensen swears under his breath. Getting Sheppard on his bad side is not exactly conducive to being able to slink around unnoticed, so it’s just going to make Jensen’s job harder. Of course, his stepfather always did say he was a stubborn fool, so Jensen gets ready to continue on.

He spins around and lands directly with an “oof!” into the thoroughly muscled chest of one Jared Padalecki.

“You came!” Jared exclaims, his face bright and dimpled, as he rights Jensen from where he stumbles back from the force of their collision.

Jensen tells himself that he needs to get back to the newsroom and start calling a few different people. Follow the money, Morgan would say, find out exactly who this Mark Sheppard was _before_ he appeared out of thin air four years ago.

Jensen tells himself this, but then Jared smiles at him and Jensen’s own stupid face can’t resist returning it.

“You’re just in time for lunch,” Jared says, holding up a hand when Jensen goes to protest. “No, trust me. You’ll want some of this. Mama Kim makes the best beef stew east of the Mississippi.”

Jensen realizes with a start that here’s his chance to get inside the inner sanctum and agrees. Jared looks pleased and leads him around the back of the building and then down a pathway to a row house that must be the residence that he learned about this morning. Sure enough, Jared pushes open a door that leads into a large communal kitchen, a long wooden table smack in the middle of it. 

Danneel is already there, sitting cross-legged on the bench that is serving as seating, and she wiggles her fingers at Jensen with a grin. Chad, sitting across from her, does the same with his claw, a spoon dripping with stew juice stuck between his malformed fingers. 

A few others are sitting there as well, including the bearded woman from the first day, now clad in a simple beige shift dress with her long beard braided and thrown back over her shoulder, and the tiny Asian boy, who looks up at Jensen with an inquisitive expression.

Jensen feels odd, like he’s intruding on a familial scene that he’s not a part of, and he remembers the warning in Sheppard’s tone as he walked away. What would he say if he saw Jensen sitting at the supper table with his performers, inside their home?

Jensen’s just about to turn around and excuse himself, but before he can, Jared has one large hand on his elbow again and ushers him further into the room.

“Everyone, this is Jensen. Jensen, this is everyone,” Jared says, giving the elbow a little squeeze before heading to the end of the table and sitting down.

An older woman approaches Jensen then as he stands in the middle of the room awkwardly. Her dark hair is shorn short, not the stylish bob of the times like Cindy, but one that speaks of hard work and the lack of time to care about things like hairstyling. She’s wearing a shift also, but she has an apron on over it. Her eyes are kind, and there are freckles across the delicate bridge of her nose. Jensen relaxes immediately when she smiles up at him.

“I’m Mama Kim. Welcome to my kitchen,” she says, one hand on the small of his back as she leads him to the empty seat next to Jared. 

Jensen knows he should be wary, knows that he has a job on the line here, that he has to prove himself to Morgan with something dazzlingly incriminating before he’s thrown out of the newsroom on his ear. 

But the room is warm, and the bowl of stew placed gently in front of him is steaming and fragrant. Jared is staring at him with a look that reads fondness and understanding, like he knows something that he shouldn’t -- _couldn’t_ know. 

As he chokes down a piece of crunchy bread dipped into the rich sauce and listens to the happy chatter of Danneel coming from the end of the table, Jensen realizes that it’s the first meal he’s eaten with another human being in over a year.

He forgets all about the pad of paper in his coat pocket.

==

“I know I’m getting distracted, but you would be too if you could see him. I mean, he’s just so tall and he has this hair that curls up right behind his ears, and I can’t even tell what color his eyes are, but they sparkle. And, really, I must be all balled up if I’m saying words like _sparkle_ , but he’s got another thing coming if he thinks I’m that much of a pushover to fall for his shenanigans!”

Cat hisses with disdain and leaps off the couch to get as far away from Jensen’s one-sided conversation as possible.

Jensen sighs. He really needs new friends. Or at least friends that can talk back.

The next night finds him out on the shore once again. It’s late, past midnight, and the noises coming from the water sound ominous in the dark. He feels like a thief, and though he knows this is probably not the brightest idea he’s ever had, Jensen’s just annoyed enough at himself for letting the elusive Padalecki get the better of him that he’s going to give it a shot.

Jensen tries not to think about the kindness in Mama Kim’s eyes or the way Danneel winked at him when he left. Perhaps they aren’t as culpable as Sheppard, but he’s not foolish enough to think that he’s completely pulling the wool over their eyes.

He starts by slipping through the archway leading to the first building in the sideshow, bypassing the now-gated-up front entrance and moving along the side to see if there is another doorway in. He’s not exactly sure what he’s looking for, but he figures he’ll know it when he sees it. 

Access, though, is denied, when the second entrance he finds is also locked up tight. Jensen curses and wishes he was as big of a hooligan as his stepfather thought he was, if only so he’d be able to pick the damn lock.

Jensen takes a minute to reassess and, pulling his coat tighter around himself, slides alongside the building back towards the big top part of the structure. Surely access there will be a little more lenient, and he might be able to sneak in.

He gets closer, and his excitement grows when he sees an opening in the side, which appears to lead to the stage area. Jensen’s just reaching out to push back the flap and carefully peer inside, when a figure comes out of the dark and grabs his wrist. 

Jensen will admit later that the yelp he lets out is a bit undignified.

“Jensen!” Jared exclaims, smile bright even in the dark of the night. “You came back.”

Jensen tries to pull back, but Jared’s grip on his wrist is firm, and the man must be able to feel Jensen’s pulse racing. Jared is still smiling, and Jensen can’t for the life of him figure out why.

“Um, yes? Yes! I just wanted to see you,” Jensen says quickly, knowing it’s ridiculous considering the fact that it’s verging on one o’clock in the morning and he just got caught trying to break into a building.

The pressure on Jensen’s wrist lessens, but Jared doesn’t let go. The little circles he starts tracing with his thumbs over the tender skin there are immediately soothing to Jensen. That weird sensation alone is enough to give Jensen the heebie-jeebies.

“You probably wanted to come back when you could see the stars best, right? The view is extra beautiful out here by the water.”

Jared’s close to him now, sharing air, and Jensen knows that Jared’s giving him an out but can’t tell to what end. What’s even stranger is that Jared doesn’t look at all surprised to find him, and if Jensen didn’t know better, he would think that Jared knew he was going to be here.

“Yeah, the stars. I heard they were really lovely out here.” 

Jared smiles again, softer this time, just the edges of his dimples showing. “Well, what do you know? I was just about to do the same thing.”

Jensen follows quietly as Jared leads them both out towards the boardwalk, to an empty wooden bench with a view of the water and the wide expanse of ink-black sky. 

He doesn’t let Jensen’s wrist go until they sit. Jensen can taste the salt in the air, the rumble of the waves in his bones.

They sit in silence for a moment, and Jensen tries not to look at him, worried that if he does then he’ll be expected to explain himself.

Jared breaks the moment for him, pulling a small silver flask out of his coat pocket and uncapping it with flair. He tips it towards his lips and closes his eyes as he drinks. Jensen watches the way his throat works, mesmerized by the movement under the thin, smooth skin.

“Want a bit of hooch? I won’t tell if you won’t,” Jared says with a grin, holding out the flask to Jensen. 

Jensen pauses, looking between the flask and Jared’s face. He’s been to a few speakeasies in his time, usually when he’s needed to scratch that particular itch, but he’s surprised that Jared is so open about it with someone that is practically a stranger.

“Come on, Jensen. A little giggle water never hurt nobody.” 

Jared’s teasing him now, Jensen can tell, and he can’t help but match Jared’s easy smile. 

“Are you trying to get me primed, Mr. Padalecki? Don’t think it’s going to be that easy to take advantage.”

“Just a little razzing, Mr. Ackles. It’d be no fun if you were a total pushover.”

Jensen flushes all the way up his neck when he realizes that this is flirting, that _they_ are flirting, and he snatches the flask out of Jared’s hand and drinks a little too quickly. He starts coughing when the hooch goes down, the cheap bootleg burning all the way.

Jared laughs as he starts pounding Jensen on the back. Jensen waves him off, embarrassed yet tingling from the feel of Jared’s hands anywhere on his body.

Jensen shakes his head, trying to regain some of his composure and remember why he’s here in the first place. He sets his shoulders and looks over at Jared, who still appears bemused as he recaps the flask puts it back in his pocket.

“So,” Jensen begins, putting on his best professional voice and ignoring how Jared’s eyebrows shoot up at the shift in tone. “Tell me how you do it.”

Jared’s face is the picture of feigned innocence, and Jensen has to flex his fist to keep himself from reaching over and touching it. “How I do what?”

“You know, all the tricks. Pretending to read people’s minds. Pretending to read mine.”

“Who says I’m pretending?”

“Oh yeah, then what am I thinking right now?” 

“You’re trying to decide whether you want to run screaming or move a little closer.”

Jensen makes a little hurt noise and looks away. 

A finger runs down the length of the exposed side of Jensen’s neck, the touch as gentle as a breeze.

Jared’s voice is soft. “Your cat scratched you up pretty good. It’s not as red as it was the other day though. Could see it all the way from the stage.” 

Jensen turns quickly back to look at Jared in surprise, which shakes Jared’s hand right off of him, instantly missing the phantom sensation of the touch.

“My cat scratched me. And you could see it,” Jensen repeats, working it out in his head, realizing that Jared is giving him the explanation that he needs to have it all make sense in his head.

“Something like that,” Jared whispers, and it takes a beat for Jensen to realize just how close they have moved together. Jared smells like liquor and peppermint and the sea, and Jensen breathes it all in as their lips instinctively move closer to each other.

“Jared! You out here? We’re shutting down, boy.”

A gruff voice breaks through their reverie and Jensen gasps, realizing what he almost allowed to happen. And in _public,_ of all things!

“I’m here, Jim! Have a good night,” Jared calls out in return, looking back at Jensen with what Jensen thinks might be a tinge of sadness in his eyes.

“That’s Jim, our head rigger. He makes sure everything is working properly, and shuts us down at night,” Jared explains. He’s sitting up now, face turned towards the sky with a wistful expression on it.

“That’s good. Real good,” Jensen replies, feeling flustered and unsure of what to say.

“Look at all those stars, Jensen. Look at how they dance.”

“Like magic,” Jensen says, but all he can see is Jared.

==

“You have forty-eight hours.”

“But, Sir –“

“Don’t you Sir me, Ackles. You think I’m running a charity here? You think I give one iota of a damn about how you get your story? I don’t.”

“Mr. Morgan, please, I just need a little bit more time—“

“If that piece isn’t on my desk in forty-eight hours, Sampson is getting your byline.”

“One more week, I swear—“

“Enough. Dry up and get out of my office before I throw this pencil at you.”

“Yes, sir.”

==

Jensen’s desperate, and he knows it. 

He barely even knows the story he’s trying to tell anymore, feelings jumbled up between wanting to prove himself to Morgan and Cindy and his stepfather and himself, and the way he’s drawn to Jared. It’s like Jared knows him, really knows him, and every time Jensen tries to explain it away with his own loneliness, the excuse doesn’t feel right.

But that doesn’t matter now because here he is, back in the middle of the night, breaking into the big top. It’s much later now, and Jensen feels secure in the knowledge that everyone is likely asleep. 

It’s eerie being inside the structure like this, all alone, the whole place dark except for the prick of light coming from Jensen’s flashlight. If Jensen listens hard enough, he can almost hear the phantom sound of applause coming from the now-empty seats.

He stands there for a moment, in the middle of the stage where the spotlight would have been on Jared, and looks out at the empty house. He points the light on where his seat was that first day and freezes.

There’s no way Jared would be able to see a cat scratch on Jensen’s neck from this distance, no matter how red.

It scares him then, the flash of doubt, the tiny niggling sensation creeping up his spine telling him to _believe._

He uses that fear and turns it back inward, into determination. With new purpose, he searches the stage area and spots one of Jared’s many theatrical contraptions. This one is a long glass box, rectangular shaped and sitting on a platform with a few steps leading up into it. It’s long enough for even Jared’s overly tall frame, and although Jensen hasn’t seen the effect that goes into it, he assumes that there is some sort of secret unlocking mechanism inside of it that he can find.

Jensen steps gingerly up to the box, thankful to discover that the lid isn’t locked. It’s heavy, but he just manages to get it open with one hand, while he uses the other to hold the flashlight and peer inside.

It’s empty, just smooth glass, but it’s deep enough that even with the light, Jensen can’t quite make out the corners at the bottom. Taking a steadying breath, he tucks the flashlight into his pocket and manages to pull himself up and over into the tank. 

He stumbles in the dark, his feet slipping, and he winds up flat on his back. Before he has time to stop it, the lid of the box comes slamming down, and Jensen reaches up blindly to try and push it back open.

It won’t budge. Jensen’s heart starts beating loudly in his chest, and he twists around to pull out the flashlight. The box is narrower than he expected, and he just barely manages to get the device out of his pocket without hitting against the sides of the glass.

“Come on, come on,” Jensen mumbles to himself, flicking the switch on the light. Nothing happens, and Jensen tries turning it on and off without any success. Just his luck that the battery decides to die just when he needs it most.

“Okay, think, Jensen,” he says aloud, trying to calm him nerves. He pushes up on the lid again, feeling around as best he can for a few different places that might have a latch to release him. Jared gets out of this thing on stage in front of a hundred people so there _has_ to be a trick involved.

The lid won’t move and the darkness surrounding him is almost like a living thing suffocating him. He kicks out in frustration, yelping as his foot hits hard against something metal.

Then he hears it: a rushing noise like one hears when you turn on the faucet full blast. A second later he feels it, the wet spray of water over his feet and bottoms of his pants. The water starts rolling back, fast, and before he knows it, the entire backside of his body is soaked.

Jensen realizes with terror that this must be some kind of water chamber, one of those tricks where the illusionist has to escape before drowning.

But Jensen isn’t an illusionist and he doesn’t know any tricks, and in one blinding moment, he realizes this box might just be his coffin.

Jensen starts pounding on the lid, his fingernails scratching across glass. He yells out, but he has no way of knowing if the box is soundproof or not, and if anyone can even hear him in the middle of the night all the way across the lot from where the sideshow acts sleep.

He doesn’t want to die, he thinks to himself, as the water rushes over the front of his coat and sits heavy on his chest. There are so many things he hasn’t done, so many people he hasn’t met. He wants to play in the snow, feel a waterfall crest over him, run along the beach with hot sand seeping through his toes. He wants to hear children laughing, wants to write the Great American Novel, wants to grow old knowing he’s been loved.

He wants to know what it feels like to kiss Jared, out in the open, sun shining down.

The water rises over his face and under his glasses, and he blinks his eyes, mouth closing as the wetness eats the last of his protest.

_I don't want to die alone,_ is the last thing he thinks, before the world explodes.

Jensen sucks in a huge gasp of air, lungs filling with air even as they burn. His eyes open but the sudden light is so bright after the darkness that all he can see is a blinding white glare.

His limbs flail, water spraying from him with the motions, and he tries to find his balance before realizing there is nothing underneath him.

Jensen’s floating in mid-air over the stage, shards of glass from the shattered tank surrounding him like a meteor shower.

“Jensen!” There’s a voice, and Jensen knows immediately it’s Jared and that he’s close. Suddenly, like his name is the scissors that cuts the puppet strings, he’s falling from the sky.

Jensen screams, gravity pulling him down as glass rains down on top of him. His life flashes before his eyes for the second time in minutes, as the sudden picture of himself with a broken neck takes over his brain.

He doesn’t land on the ground though, but instead in the safe comfort of Jared’s arms. Jensen’s coughing, rolling over and hacking, water bubbling up from his mouth and from his nose, running down his cheeks and into his neck. 

“Jensen, oh God, are you okay?” 

Jensen’s eyes are red and blurry, his glasses gone in the commotion, but he blinks them open until he can see Jared above him. Jared’s hair is messy and there are creases in his face, like he just hopped out of bed moments before. Jensen coughs again, pressing into Jared’s chest and realizing that Jared’s wearing nothing more than a threadbare undershirt.

“I’m sorry I was so late. I’m sorry I didn’t see it in time.”

Jensen’s voice is wrecked and he’s confused as all hell, but he reaches up to ball his fist in the soft material covering Jared’s body and looks him straight in the eye. “Did you hear me? Did you hear me yelling for help?”

Jared’s face is so achingly tender in that moment, like he wants to give Jensen the answers that he wants, but doesn’t know how. “No, Jensen. I saw you. In my head, while I was sleeping.”

“You saved me. How did you save me?” Jensen says, numb, the words coming out in a rush.

Jared just shakes his head and holds Jensen closer to his sleep-warm body. 

“I was flying, Jared. You made me fly. How did you do that?”

“It’s okay, Jensen. You’re okay now. _We’re_ okay now.”

==

**Eleven Years Ago**

“You’re okay, kid. You’re gonna be okay.”

Jared remembers hiding.

Mama falls, her head cracks on the pavement. Blood seeps from the gash in her forehead. Her skin is powdered white because they’re going to the picture show. Her dress was blue. Now it’s red and brown.

Jared remembers listening.

The man with the gun hits Daddy across the face until he falls next to Mama. Daddy crawls to her but she doesn’t move. The man kicks Daddy, kicks him so hard that Daddy cries out.

“This is your fault. Shoulda listened,” the man says, pointing the gun at Daddy head.

Jared remembers crying.

The boom of the gun is everywhere, seeping into Jared’s bones like a sickness. It rattles his brain, shakes the tears right out of his eyes until they coat his face.

Jared remembers running.

His legs pump as fast as they can, pushing him forward, across, down the alley, anywhere and nowhere at all.

It was raining earlier. The puddles splash under his brand news shoes, the ones with the laces that Mama got him for his tenth birthday last week. Mama’s going to be so mad that he got them dirty.

Jared remembers seeing.

Before they turned the corner, before the man with the gun came, before Mama’s head cracked open like a melon, before Daddy cried and Jared’s world died, Jared saw it.

A flash of crimson came over his mind and everything that came afterwards played like a silent movie two minutes before it actually happened.

Jared remembers staying silent.

Mama wouldn’t believe him. Daddy would scold him for making up stories. They wouldn’t let him go the picture show anymore because of it.

Jared remembers sitting still.

The alley comes to a dead end and he stops, breath stuttering out of him and legs aching from the strain. There’s a crate there, safe above the puddles, and Jared climbs on it. 

Jared remembers the world tilting.

His head hurts, hurts so bad. A pressure builds in his forehead, like his brain wants to bust right out of his face. Jared huffs a breath, but the pressure’s still there. He’s dizzy then, like he’s the one that fell and cracked his skull and not his Mama, his beautiful Mama.

Jared remembers the objects dancing.

They rise then, like toy soldiers preparing for war. Cans, trash, bottles. Hovering in the air like hummingbirds, circling Jared’s person, dipping down and then back up, swirling and dancing and _alive._

The pressure builds, squeezing the life out of him until his mouth opens up in a silent scream, and the objects move wildly, spinning around and around like a furious tornado. 

Jared remembers the pop.

Glass explodes, raining down on his face. He closes his eyes and feels the cuts, the blood trickling down his face. Thinks of his Mama of tying his bow tie before they left the house. Thinks of her eyes staring at him without seeing him at all. Thinks about her never seeing again.

Jared remembers the man.

“You’re okay, kid. You’re gonna be okay.”

He’s not the man with the gun, but Jared’s too spent to care even if he was. This man is small, suit neat and smart, hair like a flat crown on his head. He comes towards Jared slowly, holding his hands up like he’s trying to reassure him. He has a funny accent.

“What’s wrong with me?” Jared asks. The words are strange in his mouth.

“Not a damn thing,” says the man. He puts a hand on Jared’s cheek, and Jared knows it’ll come back wet with blood.

Jared remembers one life ending.

The man picks Jared up in his arms and cradles him like a babe. He starts back down the alley.

Jared remembers a new life beginning.

==

Jensen’s still in a daze as he’s led back Jared’s small apartment in the complex behind the sideshow. He waves off the idea of going to the hospital, more concerned with figuring out exactly what just happened to worry about anything else.

Jared gives him some dry clothes to change into, and their hands brush as Jensen takes them before heading into the bathroom to clean up. He comes out, still shivering lightly, and Jared is there to wrap him in a thick wool blanket. Jensen looks up at him, and Jared reaches down to right the now-crooked glasses they salvaged from the rubble that are sitting again on Jensen's face. The touch feels intimate and momentous.

Jensen sits on the sofa in silence as Jared makes them both a cup of tea. It’s the middle of the night and the air is still. Jensen doesn’t know where to begin, but Jared takes care of that decision for him as he hands over a mug and sits next to him.

“When I was ten years old, my parents were killed by a man trying to steal my mother’s jewelry and my father’s pocketbook on our way to the cinema,” Jared begins, and holds his hand up in the air when Jensen goes to give condolences for his loss.

“The reason I’m not dead too is because I saw it happen a few minutes prior, in my mind. When we turned that corner it was like I knew instinctively what was going to happen next, and I hid before the man could see me.” Jared pauses then, and Jensen can see the residual guilt of survival dancing across his features.

“I watched them die and I just ran, as fast as I could go. I ended up in an alleyway, where something remarkable happened – everything on the ground started swirling in the air, all around me where I sat. I didn’t know it then, of course, but later I learned that my emotional state triggered my latent telekinesis.”

“Jared,” Jensen breathes out, trying to work out all of this in his head, but struggling. “Are you saying that all of that on stage just now –you did all that with your _mind?_ ”

Jared nods, and there’s a sadness tinged in it. “Yes, although that was a little messier than usual. My panic overwhelmed my control and the only thing I could think about was getting you _out_ of that tank.”

Jensen swallows hard, but nods in understanding. “So, how did you end up here? With Sheppard and the rest?”

“Shep found me that night, in the alleyway. He saw what happened when my powers got triggered and recognized what was happening. He took me with him, raised me like his own son.”

“You mean he kidnapped you?” Jensen says, aghast, but Jared shakes his head vehemently.

“He _saved_ me. I had nothing left, no other family, and I was so scared. You have no idea how scared I was. And Shep, he understood what was happening to me because his sister had the same powers. He knew she could help me.”

Jared puts his mug down on the small table in front of the couch, and takes Jensen’s cup to do the same. He turns his body closer to Jensen, and places his palms over Jensen’s hands where they are balled up in his lap.

“Shep’s sister Alaina taught me how to use my powers, how to control them and stop being afraid. We traveled together, all of us, and we became a family.” Jared rubs circles into Jensen’s skin, and Jensen wonders if there is some magic in his fingertips as well. “Alaina got sick when I was sixteen. She and I both saw it in a vision, but we didn’t tell anyone else about it so that Shep wouldn’t worry. That was our secret, hers and mine, and when she died I promised her that I would look after everyone as best I could.”

“Is that why you guys settled down here at the shore?” Jensen asks, and Jared nods in agreement.

“Yeah, we were all devastated, but Shep thought some stability would help. It took us a bit of time to find a place that felt right, but when we saw this location, we knew it was ideal. Alaina always loved the water.”

“Jared, I have you be honest with you,” Jensen says. He might be all mixed up right now, but he feels compelled to confess his real intentions about his article.

Jared just smiles, and squeezes Jensen’s hands again. He doesn’t let go though, and the relief Jensen feels is palpable. “I already know, Jensen. I had a vision about you, the night before you came the first time. I didn’t know what it meant at first, but I knew there was an angry cat involved.”

Jensen lets out a surprised laugh. “Well, there is no angrier cat then Cat.”

“Maybe because you named him Cat,” Jared points out and Jensen laughs again because it’s true.

Jensen freezes then, when he realizes that Jared actually had a vision about _him_ and that has to mean something. “Did you have any other visions about me?”

Jared reaches up then, his hand hovering next to Jensen’s face. Jensen holds his breath, waiting to see what Jared will do. Slowly, achingly slow, Jared cradles Jensen’s face in his palm and leans forward until they are sharing the same air.

“I saw us happy, Jensen. Together and happy.”

“Happy,” Jensen repeats, awestruck, as Jared’s mouth finally touches his own in the most tender kiss of his life.

It doesn’t stay tender though, as Jensen gets with the program and has both of his hands tangled in Jared’s hair and their tongues slicking each other’s mouth within seconds.

Jensen pulls back with a gasp after a few minutes. “I’ve wanted to do that from the moment I saw that damn flyer.”

Jared laughs, this time higher and lighter, and his dimples are so deep that Jensen knows he can – that he _will_ \-- get lost in them. “I’ve wanted to do more than that.”

Jensen can feel himself flush all over. “What’s stopping you?”

“You almost died.”

“And you saved me.”

Jensen doesn’t get any more words out then because Jared is lifting him up and off the couch so fast that Jensen just has enough time to wrap his legs around Jared’s waist before he is starting towards the bedroom.

Jared drops him to the bed gently, climbing over him until their bodies are lined up. The heat of him is intoxicating, Jared’s frame a shadow that should be scary but is instead comforting. Jensen nods then, giving permission to take anything he wants, to give him everything in return.

Jared takes what he grants, and starts peeling his own clothes off of Jensen’s body. His touch is reverent, loving, unlike any of those quick, guilty fumbles that Jensen’s had in the past when the physical ache grew to be too much.

“You, too. I want to see you,” Jensen murmurs, pushing at Jared’s shirt until he pulls it up and over his head. 

Jared’s even more beautiful like this, skin bare and warm under Jensen’s fingertips as he reaches up to touch. Jared tips down again, taking Jensen’s lips with his own, binding them together. 

Jared slides his hands down to drag the material from Jensen’s hips until there is nothing between them, the hardness of Jensen’s manhood pressed proud against their bellies.

“Please, Jared. Please,” Jensen whines, tugging at Jared’s pants until his erection breaks free as well. They both gasp when they touch, skin on skin, and their mouths come crashing together in wet, clacking desperation.

Jared’s hand is finally around him, and Jensen moans, low and deep in his throat. There’s too much friction, so Jared sweeps the pearls of precome from the crown down the length of Jensen’s shaft, tugging and searching for the rhythm that will make Jensen keen underneath him.

Jensen instinctively brings his legs up and wraps them around Jared’s hips, causing Jared’s own erection to slide down to the little dark crevice between Jensen’s ass cheeks. His hardness catches on Jensen’s rim, too dry, too tight, but just enough, and Jensen thinks about the promise of _next time_ and the time after that.

Jared spits in his hand then, quickly and efficiently, like he doesn’t want to let go of Jensen’s cock but wants to make things easier. It helps, when he brings his palm back down the wetness makes the glide so much smoother. 

Jared’s finds the rhythm now, that perfect natural rhythm that Jensen’s never felt with another person before, and as their teeth clack and he strokes Jensen fast and long, he fucks up into the curve of Jensen’s clenching cheeks. 

They rub together like that, grunting and frantic and intimate, until Jensen cries out and spills white all over Jared’s hand. Jared follows soon after, biting down hard on Jensen’s shoulder as he pumps his orgasm out and slicks the secret parts of Jensen’s skin.

Eventually, Jared pulls the blanket up over their messy, exhausted bodies, and they lie together in silent comfort. Jensen listens to the steady thumping of Jared’s heartbeat, and knows finally how magical the world really is.

==

**Epilogue: Three Months Later**

“I don’t think Cat’s ever been this happy. It’s terrible.”

Jared laughs and hands Jensen a slice of orange as they sit and watch Osric—The Mighty Chau—practicing his new act, which involves holding a table up as Danneel stands on it with Cat balanced on her mass of red curls. 

Cat is preening, the bastard.

“And Danneel is happy because she can do… that,” Jared says, waiting a beat and then laughing when Danneel directs Cat to jump off right at the exact perfect moment to attack Chad’s face for standing too near and looking up her skirts.

A mangled shriek comes from Lobster Boy and everyone claps in appreciation.

Jensen swears Cat actually bows as he sneaks off to where Mama Kim is filling his bowl with leftover stew meat.

Things have been good, better than good, since Jensen moved in with Jared in his apartment by the sea. The day after Jensen almost died was rough, between convincing Sheppard that he wasn’t still trying to infiltrate them and dealing with Morgan back at the paper.

Well, no. Dealing with Morgan had been _glorious,_ especially the way his cigar dropped into his lap and nearly burned his bits when Jensen told him it was his turn to pipe down and listen to him for a change.

Quitting the paper was terrifying, admittedly, even though Jensen knows it was the right thing to do. 

“What do you want to do?” Jared says to him a few days after his confrontation with Morgan. They are lying in Jared’s bed, cuddled up, smelling like each other.

“I want to tell stories. I want to tell your story.”

So, that’s what Jensen does. He packs up the picture of his mama and baby sister, his threadbare duffel of clothes, and his angry cat, and moves into his new life. 

The sideshow people, the whole ragtag lot of them, welcome him with open arms. Jensen’s amazed at first, but he knows why they do it, knows they trust Jared to take care of them and show them the way. Just as he continues to show Jensen every single day.

Slowly but surely, he sits down with all of them. 

Learns how Misha and Genevieve clung to each other when the state came to separate them after their parents died.

Learns how Alaina and Shep really did pick a corn-haired and malnourished toddler named Chad out of the dumpster.

Learns what real pain is when Julian the Statue Man tells him how it feels to never really _feel._

Jensen writes it all down in his little notepad and knows just how important the words are. One day they will form together and become a history of an extraordinary group of people who became the family that Jensen never knew he needed.

The words are theirs. Jensen only hopes that he can capture the magic in them.


End file.
